


Up in Arms

by thekingoftrash



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: A small glimpse into a world where glitches are real, Attempt at Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Fall damage what's that, Gen, Hosea is a good dad, Pre-Canon, Some horses were harmed in the making of this fic, Timeline What Timeline, Young Arthur Morgan, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews, Young John Marston, or as good as one can be I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22372315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingoftrash/pseuds/thekingoftrash
Summary: But something happens. He isn’t sure quite what, disbelieving, but the entire carriage jolts like it just got shocked and then, somehow, in a way that shouldn’t be possible--The carriage is high in the sky, spinning in the air.“Is that… oh my god, Arthur!” He finds his voice, though it grows hoarse with terror and shock.Hosea would’ve thought he was hallucinating, mind gone mad with age, if Dutch wasn’t there right by his side, looking just as dumbfounded.or: glitches tend to be a little bit scarier in reality.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Van der Linde Gang, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 118





	Up in Arms

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i don't know why i wrote this, i just imagined like... what if the characters reacted to glitches?? and so this was born. sorry if any information's inaccurate, like john (and somewhat like arthur), i am a fool who knows nothing, especially abt stuff that takes place before rdr2, so yeah.

Hosea Matthews has lived a life filled with murder, robbery, and sins he won’t be able to wash his hands of no matter how hard he tries, but at the very least, if he has one thing to be proud of in life, it’s his boys.

Well, his and Dutch’s boys, and only theirs because they saved them from lives of poverty and homelessness, in Arthur’s case, and an early death, in John’s. He’s not sure if he can call them his boys anymore-- Arthur’s just reached twenty one, once lanky frame growing into something a little more filled out, baby fat melting off and being replaced with a chiseled jawline and high cheekbones. Even with John, though still a teen, he’s hit puberty, growing up like a bean sprout. Hosea reckons he might even end up taller than Arthur when he’s done growing.

Regardless, his heart swells with something fierce when he sees Arthur in front of him, saddled in his horse, just like the rest of them are. Maybe it’s the casual, relaxed posture he has, despite the fact they’re about to do a robbery, or the fact that he’s ribbing John and throwing insults with no heat at Hosea, or that he has something almost akin to a smile on his face as he and Dutch go over the plans one last time.

All four of them are currently atop a hill up around the wilderness. There’s a dirt path down the hill and in front of them, but distanced enough nobody could really tell they’re there. A few trees dot along the road, and a river cuts through nearby. Even farther in the distance, parallel to the road, is a set of train tracks, where a train filled with rich people should be due soon.

“Alright,” Dutch starts, motioning towards something in the distance. “There’s your carriage. Remember the plans, Arthur? Don’t do anything rash,” he warns, if only because their last job fell through, no thanks to his and John’s constant bickering.

Arthur rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. “Sure.” He tips his hat at them, and then he’s off, little Arabian growing smaller in the distance. She’s a feisty horse, small, but fast and able to hold Arthur’s weight nonetheless. Honestly, Hosea has no idea how he managed to tame her, but that’s just one of his talents, he supposes. He chose to forego his prized mare, Boadicea, in favor of a horse that’s smaller and speedier for this task.

Hosea sighs, stretching his arms out over Silver Dollar’s head. “Think we should help him?” He asks.

“Arthur?” Dutch snorts. “It’s just a carriage. He’ll be fine.”

Old Boy trots nervously behind them, still unused to being still for long. Honestly, it’s no wonder he and John get along. Impatient, the both of them. 

“This is boring,” John complains behind them.

“Shut it,” Hosea snaps with little heat, too used to their youngest’s antics. It took lots of time and work to smooth Arthur out, and even then, he’s still rugged and rough with a little too much impulsivity and anger, so despite John being with them for a couple of years by now, he’s not surprised he’s still mostly alike to the scrawny teen they barely saved from death. He’s mellowed out something, but he still has much to learn.

“You’ll get your chance soon, son,” Dutch placates. And that’s true. They’re waiting here for Arthur to grab the carriage, then he’ll go and park it on the train tracks, where it’ll be up to the three of them to start robbing. Should law enforcement show up, Arthur will provide distraction, trying to lead them away if need be. Even the carriage is easier than they’re used to- operated by a single man, who, by the looks of it during recon, is exhausted and overworked. By all means, this should be easy.

They watch as Frost, the horse so cleverly named that because Arthur found her in the snow (and her white coloring, really, the man either picks names so obscene nobody can pronounce them or something as plain and boring as a dirt road), canters behind the wagon. Keeps her distance, at first, until they’re passing by a tree, where Arthur speeds her up and uses the trunk to keep the horse somewhat hidden. 

Hosea squints in the distance, watching as Arthur’s figure leaps from the saddle to the back of the carriage, tipping backwards, before finding purchase on the rails and clambering over. 

“Can’t we just go on ahead to where he’s gonna drop the cart off?” John complains.

“No, John, because we’re supposed to be a _surprise_ ,” Dutch chides.

The black haired boy snorts, apparently disbelieving. “Whatever.” Hosea trots to where John’s horse is and leans over, pinching his ear.

“No more of your sass, mister,” he hisses.

“Ow, ow, okay, fine! I’ll stop, jeez!” He complains, wrestling with his hand. Satisfied John will stop bitching for at least a few minutes, he lets go, returning to what he was doing. He’s just in time to see Arthur slide into the seat next to the man’s, stealing the reigns right from him.

“Right,” Dutch says. “Let’s get going.”

“What?! But I thought we were supposed to be a surprise?” John bemoans.

“We are. Now that Arthur has the carriage, he has the distraction. Let’s move.”

Though he grumbles complaints under his breath, the three of them start making their way down the hill they set up on. 

“Is he alright?” John asks from behind them. Hosea lifts his head, swiveling to where Arthur is, because who else would he be asking about?

It appears the man and Arthur have gotten into a scuffle. Arthur kicks him, though he doesn’t fall out, instead waving his hands around wildly. Or trying to punch Arthur, maybe? He frowns. It wouldn’t do any good if the man kicked up a fuss and got the law after them.

The two of them play tug of war with the reigns, causing the horses to twist from one direction to another. Hosea spurs his horse a little faster, wondering if he should intervene, when the carriage runs between two rocks.

Normally, that wouldn’t mean anything, but.

But-

But something happens. He isn’t sure quite what, disbelieving, but the entire carriage jolts like it just got shocked and then, somehow, in a way that shouldn’t be possible-

-The carriage is high in the sky, spinning in the air.

“Is that… oh my god, Arthur!” He finds his voice, though it grows hoarse with terror and shock.

Hosea would’ve thought he was hallucinating, mind gone mad with age, if Dutch wasn’t there right by his side, looking just as dumbfounded.

The horses desperately try to run, hooves searching for ground they can’t find, and then the entire wagon is plummeting. Even from here, he can hear distant screaming, though it’s impossible to tell if it’s coming from Arthur or the other man or both.

And then-

  
And then the wagon lands, right into a rushing river, filled to the brim with boulders and rocks.

“Arthur!” John races past them, and that spurs him into action as well. Silver Dollar bolts after him, Dutch following closely behind.

“Arthur!” He shouts when the carriage is closer in view. His heart rate spikes when he notices the horses, slumped over their own legs or splayed against the rocks, unmoving.

John’s barely by the river before he’s dismounting, Old Boy snorting as he slows to a stop. Hosea and Dutch follow suit.

“Arthur, my boy!” Dutch yells as they race into the water. Luckily, the river isn’t too deep, only going up to their knees, but that also sends alarm bells ringing in his head. That carriage didn’t have much in the way of landing.

“Arthur!” John shouts, determination grim on his face. It makes him look older, more a rugged man than a boy, and it makes something in his heart sad, though there’s not much he can do about it. Just something that comes with their lives.

The wagon itself is tipped on its side, with the bottom half facing them. The three of them struggle over the boulders that the horses are on, John scrambling and falling and he’s certain he’s all scraped up, but Hosea can’t blame him for feeling worried.

Hosea’s almost afraid to look as they make their way around the horses. He swallows thickly. But with Dutch behind him and John in front, he can’t leave, can’t turn away. He wouldn’t, anyways.

His heart threatens to stop when they notice the bodies.

Both men are in the water, Arthur practically on top of the man. There’s blood trickling in the water, and first he worries it’s from their boy, but then he notices the gash on the other man’s head, blood on the rock behind him. It must have cut him up, poor bastard.

John rushes to his side, but before he can do anything, Arthur groans, shifting. They all freeze.

“Arthur?” Dutch asks, slowly, carefully, like talking to a newborn fawn. Or, perhaps, he’s scared that they misheard, scared Arthur’s dead or dying.

“Wh...what…” Arthur groans again, shifting up, blinking blearily at them. “Why are you all lookin’ at me like that?”

Hosea lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and sob. “We-- you were so high up in the sky, son, and then you crash landed…”

For some reason, the man looks barely affected. “That so,” he says, as casually as if they were talking about getting breakfast at the saloon or asking to go fishing.

“Are you… alright?” Dutch asks. Poor John looks hopelessly confused, like he isn’t sure if he should say something as Arthur stumbles up behind him, stretching.

“‘M fine,” he groans, rolling his neck. “Little sore, I guess, but nothin’ a health tonic won’t fix.”

“A health tonic,” Hosea repeats, flatly. He’s a believer in medicine, but he can’t imagine a world in which a standard health tonic could do anything to fix someone from such a fall, since that usually includes broken bones, bleeding limbs, and brain damage.

Arthur waves a hand at them dismissively, patting John roughly on the shoulder as he stalks past. “Don’t hafta believe me, but I’m fine, really. We still up for that train? We’ll need to find another carriage soon…” He trails off, looking thoughtful, something Hosea had never expected to see on such a man before. Arthur’s not as foolish as John, but to be honest, that’s not saying much.

“No, son,” Dutch says, eyes still wide, staring off somewhere beyond this realm. He pats Arthur on the shoulder. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

For once, Hosea agrees with him.

And, privately, for once, Hosea thinks Arthur must have something high above them that’s looking out for him.


End file.
